


In His Bed

by annalore



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-23
Updated: 2003-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 00:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annalore/pseuds/annalore
Summary: Set after Wrecked. Buffy tries to come to terms with her changed relationship with Spike.





	In His Bed

Buffy stood outside the crypt, debating whether or not she should go through with it. She had a plan. A really good plan. There was no way he could find fault with it, no way he could pick apart her reasoning. Her face fell. Spike always found a hole in her reasoning. He could always see right through her. It wasn't going to work. She turned to leave. She stopped. Maybe this time it would be different. She really had thought this all through. It made sense. It was the only thing that made sense. He'd have to accept her terms. He said he wanted her. He said he was waiting for her to come crawling back to him. Well, here she was, practically on her hands and knees. And in her brand new skirt, too. She tugged open the door. No going back now.   
  
  
Spike jumped up as Buffy walked into his crypt. He hadn't expected to see her for a while, and certainly hadn't expected her to look so calm. He was about to throw out a customary sarcastic greeting, when she shook her head slightly. So that's how she wanted to play this. He could oblige.   
  
She walked over to the chair he'd been sitting in, and perched herself on the edge. "I've been thinking, Spike. One of the big reasons I thought I had to avoid this thing with you is how it was putting the people I love in danger."   
  
He opened his mouth to protest that, and she held her hand out.   
  
"Don't. Talk. I'm trying to say something. I left Dawn all alone, that night. Anything could have happened to her. I can't do that again." She paused and took a deep breath. "But I do want you. I think, I can have you. I just have to be responsible about it."   
  
He nodded slightly, not quite knowing what she was getting at.   
  
"So, here are the rules. I have to be home by 9. I can't leave the house before dark. If you're not asleep, I might have some time during the days. Between 8 and 3. You have to understand, Dawn's gotta come first."   
  
"I do understand," he responded, "I love 'er too. I swore to protect her til the end of the world, didn't I?"   
  
"Yeah, you did," she said, realizing she had been holding her breath. She smiled lightly. This had turned out much better than she thought. She'd expected it to be hard, or that he wouldn't listen to what she had to say. She thought he might be hurt by what she was offering him. She knew he wanted more than that from her. She'd almost started to relax, but she got worried again. He was letting her off easy. Why was he letting her off easy? It wasn't like him, not at all.   
  
"So, you wanna?" he asked, his trademark smirk in place.   
  
For a second, she honestly didn't know what he was talking about, she'd been so lost in her thoughts. When she finally did get it, she recoiled. "Spike! Why do you always have to...?"   
  
"Bring having sex into your 'scheduling our sex lives' monologue? How inappropriate of me."   
  
She glared at him with as much intensity as she could muster. He only laughed, and repeated "So?"   
  
After a slight pause, she replied, "God, yes."   
  
  
She threw her head back into the pillow, her moans reaching a fever pitch as he moved over her, immersing her in the type of ecstasy she'd only known on that one other night, with him. She gulped in air desperately, her voice rising in broken cries and half formed pleas, and finally to a full out scream as she went over the precipice, wave after wave of pleasure buffeting her, as the ground rushed up to meet her falling body with dizzying speed.   
  
She returned to herself slowly, her breath coming in gulps, trying to steady frazzled nerves. "Oh. Wow." was all she could manage to get out. Her head was still rolled back on the pillow, her eyes directed at the top of the headboard. Her legs had slid out of the position he'd forced them into and her arms lay limp at her sides. Her skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, and her face was flushed. He was spread out at her side, his arm strewn casually over her stomach, his head tucked into the groove of her shoulder.   
  
She looked down at him, and was suprised when the panic didn't surface immediately. The badness and wrongness of this whole thing didn't strike her all at once, like it had the first time. She felt better than she had in a long time, actually. She felt peaceful. Relaxed. That's when she started to freak out. Suddenly, lying entangled with Spike wasn't comforting, it was suffocating. She needed to get out of there, and fast. She pushed aside the hand that was languidly stroking her and rolled out of the bed. She could feel his eyes burning into her back as she gathered her clothes and got dressed. As she went to the exit, it became too much for her, and she glanced back at him. Big mistake. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes started to sting. Tearing herself away, she left. She only started breathing again when she was out in the sunlight.   
  
  
It had been a day. A normal day, full of normal things to do: get Dawn out to school, make sure Willow was okay, clean the house even though it was spotless, pick up Dawn, check on Willow again. A boring day. Her mind kept drifting back to the night before. Her attention kept straying to Spike. To Spike's lips, and the way he kissed her. Spike's hands, and the way he touched her. Spike's voice, as he whispered sweet words and dirty phrases into her ear. She managed to last a day before going back to him. But, to be fair, she hadn't promised herself that she would stay away. She hadn't told herself that it would never happen again.   
  
It was midnight by the time she finally crept into his crypt after a grueling patrol. She found him sitting in front of his television, staring at the blank screen, cigarette butts and empty beer bottles littering the ground around him.   
  
"You're back," he observed.   
  
"You let me leave," she shot back, surprised by the accusation in her own words.   
  
"We're playing by your rules now, or don't you remember?" he pointedly asked.   
  
"Willow's visiting her mother and Dawn's staying at a friend's for the weekend."   
  
"And, let me guess, you got bored?"   
  
"No. I got lonely."   
  
He finally turned around to look at her. "Come here, luv." Despite herself she walked over to his chair and stood in front of him. He beckoned her closer, and she obeyed yet again.   
  
"Sit."   
  
She sat down on his lap gingerly, folding her legs beneath her. "What?"   
  
He tenderly ran his hand through her hair, forgetting the harsh words he'd been planning on confronting her with. She completely disarmed him.   
  
"You don't have to be alone, Buffy."   
  
"You know this isn't right, Spike."   
  
"I thought we went over that already..."   
  
"No, no... not *that*... it's not right for me to use you like this."   
  
Her statement gave him pause. He'd known she was doing it, of course, but for her to know it too, and admit it... In a strangled whisper he said, "Let me worry about that. Everything I have, Buffy, everything I am, is yours."   
  
She leaned into him, the long golden hair that he loved so much falling down to frame her face. She placed one hand at the back of his neck, and drawing his head closer to hers, she kissed him, her eyes never leaving his. She looked even younger than she usually did, so unsure and vulnerable. She kissed him as if it were her first ever, and she was just learning how it all worked. As the kiss went on and grew in intensity, modesty was replaced by abandon. When Spike's hands found the hem of her shirt and traveled up her back, she gasped and then murmured "It's okay. It'll be okay..."   
  
  
Afterwards, she lay on her stomach, her hands folded under her head, which was turned sideways to face him. He was lying on his side, one arm stretched out across the pillows and the other draped over her back, just above the gentle swell of her bottom. She smiled slightly, yawning. He smiled back at her.   
  
She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but closed it without saying anything. After a minute, she tried again, but getting no further she arranged her face in an expression of defeat.   
  
"What?" he asked.   
  
"I don't want to ruin this," she admitted in a whisper. "And I know that one us will."   
  
He ran his hand up her spine, caressing her silky smooth skin as he went, and tangled his fingers in her hair. He stayed in that position.   
  
After a few minutes of silence, Buffy demanded, "Aren't you going to say something?"   
  
"I can't make it alright for you, luv. You have to do that yourself."   
  
"I don't know what I'm doing here, Spike. I don't know why I suddenly care... Why I don't want to hurt you. But I like this."   
  
"Nice to know I'm still doing something right," he said, half truthfully, half trying to raise a smile.   
  
"Spike, you're a pig," she shot back. "You know that's not what I meant. Although, that is kinda nice too..." She looked over at him with fire in her eyes. All the hesitence and languor had gone out of her demeanor and he knew she wanted him again. He liked that she let herself relax and let go while she was with him. It meant that she trusted him. He'd told her once that she'd be better off when she realized what kind of girl she really was. And he'd been right.   
  
  
It was close to sunrise when she woke up. She'd spent another night with Spike, this time in his bed, having sought him out, rather than in a collapsed building after a spur of the moment tryst. And what a night it had been, she recalled as she stretched her aching limbs. Sex with Spike didn't seem to be one of those things where the novelty wore off. As she got up and looked around for her clothes, he reached over to the empty side of the bed and, not finding her there, his eyes drifted open.   
  
"Leaving so soon, luv?"   
  
"I've been here all night, Spike."   
  
"You said you were free for the weekend."   
  
She turned to face him, letting her eyes flood with emotion. Loneliness, resentment, regret, hurt, and finally desire swam across those magnificant eyes of hers.   
  
"I never said I'd stay."   
  
"You have nowhere else to be."   
  
Her eyes sparked with anger and she turned away again to pick up a stray article of clothing. "I have plenty of places to be, all of them better than here."   
  
A look of hurt flashed across his face, and she felt bad momentarily, remembering her earlier words.   
  
"Let me go, Spike," she whispered, "let me go."   
  
"Right," he said hollowly, "the rules. How could I have forgotten?"   
  
He turned his head away from her and she dressed in silence, feeling oddly disappointed. She didn't see the pain in his eyes when he finally returned his gaze to her. This time, she didn't look back.   
  
  
It was only a few hours later when she crept back into the crypt and back down the ladder. When she got to his 'bedroom' she paused. He was sitting on his bed, staring morosely at the opposite wall. He didn't move when she entered, but even though he didn't acknowledge her, she knew that he was aware of her presence. He always was.   
  
She started to walk over to him but she stopped herself halfway to the bed. She didn't want to get into that again. She knew what would happen. It was the same thing that always happened.   
  
"I don't know... why... I do this, Spike."   
  
"And you expect me to be sypmathetic, solve all your problems?"   
  
"No, I..." As she searched for the words, the right way to describe what she was feeling, his voice cut harshly across her thoughts.   
  
"We both know why you're here, Slayer. Might as well just admit it."   
  
She unconsciously lifted her hand, palm turned out, to reach for him. A gesture of... what, exactly? Did she want him to forgive her?   
  
"And I'm not coming to you, either, so you can forget that."   
  
She let her hand flutter back down to her side, chastened. She didn't know why she was back here again, if not for that.   
  
"We're playing by your rules," his voice continued -- was he really saying it? She heard the words, but they didn't seem connected to reality. Her rules didn't resemble this. Her rules didn't include feeling bad when she left him and missing him afterwards. Her rules didn't have provisions for caring about him.   
  
She took a step towards the bed.   
  
"I'll give you anything, everything, you want. You just have to tell me what that is."   
  
Another step. She found her voice again, but just barely.   
  
"When I figure that out..." She left it open ended. She didn't know what she'd do if she ever really knew what she wanted. It'd been so long since she had.   
  
There was a long pause, in both speech and movement, then he asked expectantly, "Are you coming over here or what?"   
  
He wasn't even fighting it anymore. Neither was she. In a flash, she was standing between his legs, his arms wrapped loosely around her hips, his face upturned to recieve her desperate kisses. Her hands closed convulsively over his shoulders, and when she finally pulled away to catch her breath, he could see her eyes glistening in the soft lighting.   
  
  
Her eyes shut and her lips pressed tightly together, she concentrated on the movement of her hips, pushing everything else out of her mind. Up, down, just that way... again, more, harder. A bead of sweat trickled down her face. To think, that she could get off on this... Muscles tighten, just so. No time to look down at him... she had a rhythm to keep up. His hands made their way to where her knees were braced against his sides, not restricting, not forcing, just touching. She moved faster, inviting the almost pleasure/almost pain the motion brought. If she stopped, even for one second, it would all be... all be... she swallowed the scream before it left her mouth.   
  
Her muscles contracted in violent spasms as she struggled to keep the motion going. The intensity built to painful levels and she lost herself in it, not noticing the tears sliding down her face or the rawness of her throat as she gasped for air, not even noticing when his fingers dug into her flesh, the nails breaking little cresents in the soft skin at the back of her calves. Sweet relief flooded her system as the spasms receeded and she leaned against him, touching her forehead to his chest, trying to come back to herself. The steadying breaths felt like fire in her windpipe, but calmed her nerves considerably. Intense night. Way too intense for words. She couldn't just... she moved off of him, rolling herself into a lying position at his side. Trouble moving. Not good for walks through cemetaries.   
  
He glanced over at her as if they had not just had some of the most amazing sex of her life and said, "I expect you'll be leaving now."   
  
How could he be so normal after that? How could he be so *casual*? She knew, though, that it was his way of defending himself, just as running away was hers. But she wasn't running now. Couldn't if she wanted do, probably. She didn't want to run. Finally. Each time she gave herself to him, she'd come nearer to the decision she was about to make. Every time she came here she thought, "Will this be the time I give in?" And now the answer was finally yes. Would it really be that bad?   
  
"No, I'm not." The shocked look on his face as she said it was almost worth it. The tremor in his voice as he told her he loved her was more than worth it. He never used to say it. She'd known he did, of course, but he hadn't ever reminded her. Maybe he thought she wouldn't want to hear it. Maybe she hadn't wanted to. But now... Even though she had no clue what she was doing with him, much less how she felt about it, she loved that he he loved her. And he knew it. So he said it, often. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was like those silly little things they whispered at each other every so often. I've never wanted anyone more than you. I need you now. Touch me there. Your skin's like fire. Your lips are like ice. I want you. I hate you. I love you.   
  
She moved closer to him, pillowing her head on his chest, to show the veracity of her statement. As she let her eyes drift closed, she felt his arm slide around her. Now that he knew she wasn't going right away, he had dropped the act. He was as spent, as completely and utterly satisfied as she was.   
  
Absently tracing random patterns on her skin with his fingers, he asked, "Why're you staying?"   
  
"It's nice, here, and..." she broke off, wishing she knew what her reasons were. She'd started this thing with Spike for the sex. The passionate, mindblowing sex, but still just the sex. She'd come to his crypt after patrol, hot under the skin and seeking the thrill that killing vamps and demons used to give her. She'd come after squaring away the household chores. She'd come after sneaking out in the middle of the day. She'd leave, after, telling herself that she'd gotten what she wanted from him. That the rules had been followed, and she was happy. But she always came back in desperation, seeking the thrill and the release he never failed to give her. She'd been lying to herself. It never had been about the rules, this thing between them. It was about what they did when they were together, not when they met and how they parted. It was about this moment, here in his bed. She liked lying here. She liked not feeling like she had to rush off right away. She liked being able to sleep the rush off with him next to her, instead having to lose something of what he'd given her on the walk to her house, and the process of saying good night to Dawn, and seeing if Willow was all right. It's not that she resented those things, but she wanted to have some time in between her two worlds.   
  
"It's just so much to deal with," she settled on.   
  
"And you're amazing for dealing with it all," he whispered, his hand continuing the rhythmic motion on her back, "God, I love you Buffy."   
  
She wanted so badly to have something to say back to him. She felt he deserved it, somehow. But he didn't expect that from her. He didn't expect anything from her. He took every little thing she gave him as a gift, something precious. For the first time, she thought it was wrong that he had this attitude. For the first time, she wanted him to expect something out of her. Maybe it meant nothing, she told herself as she drifted to sleep. Maybe none of this meant anything. Maybe, she thought, as his arm tightened around her waist, it meant everything.


End file.
